Ok, so I admittedly teased you a bit. But just playfully. Not with anything particularly juicy. And I certainly didn’t mean to leave you on a hanging note for a week! Quite simply, we went to London for 5 days, where my computer refused to connect online.
So here we are. And obviously I made it to England, but it wasn’t without drama. You see, a very very nice agent had placed Del and I on the special check-in list for our flight. And he told me to find him later if I needed help. “Just ask for John.” So when we were being told we would be forced on the flight, I thought of John.
Leave it to airlines – not an agent could be found. The terminal was dead. After several minutes searching up and down the empty gates I spotted an agent, who gave me the brush off as only an agent can. I asked for John, she didn’t even pause to think nor look at me as she claimed she didn’t know him. I explained that I was an employee; I wasn’t hunting down some agent for a gripe. He’d said to ask for him. She was completely ignoring me, and if one thing puts me into a rage it’s people who are rude to you when they haven’t even listened to a word you’ve said (cause if they had, they would be answering you like a human being, due to some relevant info in there). Yes, I know what you’re thinking – Flight Attendants can be sooooo guilty of that and I hate them for this offense also.
I asked the lady, “If you’re busy, where can I find another agent to help us?” A fluttering hand. “Try ticketing.” (More proof that she didn’t listen to me say I was an employee, because an employee has no doubt just how huge and ridiculous a brush-off that is.) I was still trying to keep my cool. “Ticketing?” She nodded, still no eye contact. “So…you’re telling me to walk 10 minutes back down the terminal and leave security, to find someone who should be helping me here?” She uh-huh’ed me while reading some paper. “That suggestion doesn’t help me. Can you tell me what other gates have flights going out?” At this hour, with so few flights going, there were only a few active gates. She would know well which those were. NO response. “Excuse me, but you are being completely unhelpful.” “Ticketing,” she mumbled.
I wanted to punch her in the face. I didn’t say that, but apparently my voice did. With one solitary word. That word was “YOU“. High-pitched and dangerously slow. I got no further than that before Del giggled and turned away. Which said to me clear enough, “Oh my god. This woman has no idea what’s about to go down!”
But his nervous giggle was enough to force air back into my thoughts. Instead I said something rational and true. Like, “You are completely rude and useless.” And as she finally looked up at us and mumbled some excuse I “gave her the hand” and stalked away.
I just wanted to go to a hotel and crawl into bed. But we had to find an agent and convince them to let us leave. Of course I wanted to dare them, “just try and force me on this plane”, but the fact is I can have my travel rights revoked if I don’t play nice. So two hours later, we’re at the boarding for our (potential) flight. That gave us a different version of ridiculousness. (“You can’t expect us to treat you like a passenger. We can’t take the trouble of pulling your bag.” Me: Right. But because I’m not a regular passenger, it is no trouble. Mine should already be off to the side with a bright yellow ‘stand-by’ tag on it.”) And just when I was giving them the benefit of the doubt, saying to Del, “There must be something about the process I don’t understand,” an awesome, no-nonsense Jamaican agent came up, called baggage and barked into the phone, “She’s a stand-by. It’s dead easy. Her bag is off to the side, just take it.” I never thought I’d love a bossy Jamaican so much. And just like that, we were saved.